Obsession
by Subspace Butterfly
Summary: An encounter between Hoshi and Malcolm told through the eyes of an ensign. No, the ensign is not canon, but she's not really important either. R and R!


Obsessions  
  
By The Subspace Butterfly  
  
A/N: First fanfic I have ever written. I had so much fun; I hope you have fun reading it, too.  
  
Dislaimer: Characters and TV show do not belong to me. If they did, Malcolm and Hoshi would be together already.  
  
  
  
I never thought, when I signed up to be on the first starship on the first mission into deep space, that it could be so lonely. I've never known what that's like. I'm a private person, and I thought that I liked being left alone. In such close quarters, being uncomfortably close to people one was forced to get to know at every turn, loneliness seemed a particularly unlikely ailment. Nonetheless, I sometimes regret my decision to be here. After my shift I return to my quarters, and if my roommate isn't there- he's very outgoing and lucky enough to have friends on the ship, so he usually isn't- I'll while that awkward gap between sleep and work away by slowly slipping into a depressed funk and dictating my personal log. This personal log increasingly resembles gossip, a kind of recording of how well everyone else is getting along with one another. Sometimes there is a bitter tinge to them. Like the one the night before last:  
  
"Yesterday I saw Ensign Sato in the hallway, and as I passed her on my way to the mess hall, she broke into this huge grin. It practically engulfed the entire lower region of her face. I wasn't sure what she was grinning at. I offered a feeble smile in return, not wanting to be rude. Then a voice behind me, Lt. Malcolm Reed- that British weapons officer- spoke up. I can't remember for sure what he said, as I was otherwise occupied with mentally kicking myself for being so stupid. She, of course, had been grinning at him. But as I recall, he said he was sorry he was late, then some technical jargon about the grapplers being offline and why. I had slowed my pace by this time, so I wouldn't miss it if they- you know- made out or anything. That'd make for a real conversation starter when I got to the mess hall. As it turned out, they didn't, not that I saw anyway. Lt. Reed hooked her arm- clumsily, like he hadn't really meant to but now that his arm was there, 'oh well!'- in his and Ensign Sato reversed direction back to the mess hall, where I was headed. They lowered their voices and chatted a few steps behind me all the way to their destination, where they took a table in the corner and- I swear this is true- ate off each other's plates. Ok, so it wasn't like they shared the same spaghetti noodle, but she tried his linguini [sound of giggling on recording] and she was very generous with her chicken strips.  
  
"I sat alone, and watched them."  
  
Isn't that pathetic? I've become sort of obsessed with their relationship. It's like watching a romance movie. Which, by the way, they did today in the rec center. I found out he invited her to the "Twentieth Century Movie Marathon" on the bridge, delivering a report of my diagnostics to Trip, when Trip started poking fun at them for it. He didn't think seriously they were an item. He was probably bitter because he didn't have a date. I mean, Vulcans just don't date. At least, not that I know of.  
  
I went to the show just to sit behind them- I didn't care about the movie, which was Casablanca. Hoshi- I should say Ensign Sato, but I feel like I know her- cries easily during sad scenes. This makes Lt. Reed uncomfortable, and it can get kind of awkward. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a freak. I don't indulge my obsessions with people all the time. I do have friends. Just not on the ship, that's all. Most of the people I work with- my work is running diagnostics in the medical department- have social circles of their own, and aren't looking for new members.  
  
My roommate really isn't like that- I think he does try to involve me in various crew activities that I know only people of his social rank get invited to. I should be grateful, I suppose, but I never accept his offers to accompany me. They might be token offers. He might not expect me really to say yes. I might feel out of place.  
  
I wish someone would eat my chicken strips. 


End file.
